


Until the Daylight Comes

by tensofthousandsoftinyships (evilolive)



Category: The Fosters (TV 2013)
Genre: Canon Gay Character, Coming Out, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-15
Updated: 2015-07-15
Packaged: 2018-04-09 13:23:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4350416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evilolive/pseuds/tensofthousandsoftinyships
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the Summer of Jonnor Fic Exchange. </p><p>Prompt: Connor is wrestling with coming out to his baseball team. He and Jude talk about it. What does he decide? How does it go? What impact does this have on Jonnor? On his relationship with his Dad?</p><p>My favourite Jonnor oneshot written by me. Hope you enjoy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Until the Daylight Comes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [914mokey](https://archiveofourown.org/users/914mokey/gifts).



Jude was in the tree in his backyard, waiting. He was in the tree because he was way too agitated to settle to doing anything. In the tree he was forced to hold on and constantly shift positions, and this suited his uneasy state of mind. This was to be Jude’s first full day with his boyfriend in almost two weeks.  ****

The last day had been the day of the LGBTQ prom **.** Connor had been busted by his dad when he got home wearing his nice clothes. It was bound to happen, but Connor said it would probably mean a day or two of being grounded for lying about the movies. No such luck. 

Jude did not hear anything until midnight the following day, which was Sunday. On grandma’s advice, he usually turned his phone to airplane mode before he went to sleep. Tonight, he left it on vibrate just in case. He was almost asleep when the text arrived. 

 _can you talk?_  

Jude crept downstairs and called Connor’s number. “Hey.”

“Hey. Where are you?”

“Kitchen.”

“Talk for a bit?”

“Sure. You OK? I’ve been calling and calling.”

“Sorry. He took my phone.”

“I figured. Did he give it back?”

“Nope. I sneaked downstairs and took it out of his briefcase once he’d gone to sleep.”

“Connor! What if he wakes up? You’ll be grounded for ever.”

“It won’t make any difference. He’s sending me to baseball camp every fucking day for the next two weeks.”

“Camp?” Jude was nonplussed. Connor’s dad had said nothing about camp this summer when he had come over to talk to Jude’s moms about curfews and things. That had been shortly after Connor was released from hospital. They had congratulated themselves on having the entire summer to hang out.  

“Yeah. Full days as well. I’m not grounded, but I might as well be. I’ll get home when dad gets off work and he wants more practice before dinner and then early nights. Because it’s a hundred and seventy-five dollars a day, so he has to get his money’s worth. And then next weekend, you know, I’m not even here.” Connor’s speech ended on a low note. “I’m not gonna get to see you at all.” His voice was rough and thick with unshed tears. 

“Wait. Hold on.” Jude’s head was whirling in panic. He collapsed onto the couch. “I’ll come see you at your mom’s next Saturday. I can get the bus.”

“No, because I’ve got that barbecue with my cousins, remember?”

“Sunday, then.”

“Maybe, but…” The conversation was getting off track. 

“Sorry. Forget I said anything.” Jude was contrite. They had talked about this. Connor was nervous about the weekend with his mom and her folks and did not need additional pressure. He had not seen his mom’s family since getting shot, they did not know about his relationship with Jude and one of his aunts was kind of religious. It was a lot to deal with so they had agreed to spend the weekend apart. But that had been before Connor’s dad blew up at him about the prom and dropped the bomb of baseball camp. 

“Don’t worry about it. It’s OK,” Connor said. The subtext was _Don’t worry about me. I’ll be OK_ but Jude was not entirely sure he believed it.  

“This really sucks. I can’t…” _fucking believe your dad_. The sentence was left hanging. Jude, as careful with other people’s feelings as he was with his own, knew that bitching about Mr Stevens was not going to help Connor. “Never mind.” His tone softened, became loving. “I’m going to miss you, that’s all.” 

“Not as much as I’m going to miss you.” 

Heavy sighs were translated into digital information, bounced across several cell towers, reassembled into sound waves and wafted into slightly warm ears. Jude picked up on the apprehension underlying the resignation in Connor’s words. He curled up on the couch and pulled a comforter over his legs. “So, this camp—” Jude hesitated. “Does this mean you’re going to come out to the team after all?” 

“I don’t know.”

There was a long silence at both ends of the line. Jude was busy pondering the fatal interruption of his summer plans and mastering his resentment. Two weeks of nothingness stretched ahead, ready to be filled with books and games and trips to the grocery store and hanging out with his family. For the first time in his short life, his domestic routine was settled and dull and, for Jude, this was a circumstance to be revelled in and celebrated. No one was pushing him to do anything, there was nothing of pressing importance to concern him. Connor, unfailingly generous and kind, had respected his wishes about not labelling himself until he was good and ready—at the expense of his own needs. Now would be Jude’s turn to provide support. Connor needed his help and he would do everything in his power to make the next two weeks bearable. Together, they would hack their way through the increasingly tangled and disagreeable branches of the moral maze that was coming out. 

Jude wrapped himself up tighter in the comforter and waited, trying not to fall asleep. 

 

Lying in bed, Connor turned on his side and rested his forehead against the coolness of his bedroom wall. 

The topic had been discussed before with no resolution. The pertinent information here was Adam Stevens’ unyielding opposition to Connor’s wish to be open about who he was. Also relevant was that Connor had to live with his dad and his baseball team mates did not attend Anchor Beach. When the removal of his cast entailed a return to twice-weekly baseball practice, Connor defaulted to a wait and see policy.  Until now, for the sake of a quiet home life, keeping his relationship with Jude on the down low for the rest of the season had seemed the path of least resistance.  

For the past several years, he had worked and strived to improve his game, not just to please his dad, but because he bought into baseball’s culture of exceptionalism. However, in recent months, baseball had become a casualty of Connor’s changing relationships and priorities. 

Avoidance is a strategy frequently deployed in all fields of practice when investment is low. Even before getting shot in the foot, Connor’s baseball practice had been desultory. To be frank, he was buoyed by the reprieve from playing on the team this summer and the prospect of getting serious about practicing again attached lead weights to his arms and legs. The possibility crossed his mind that perhaps his feel for the game was beginning to wane. A hard-headed realist in many respects, Connor was increasingly aware that his odds of playing high school ball, let alone at any level beyond that, were long. Fear of disappointing his father’s long-cherished hopes—added to his own sense of loss—governed his behaviour, which was that of an ostrich. Easy to put off thinking too closely about how his relationship with baseball was shifting when he was not actually playing. With the forced attendance at training camp, the choice was taken from him. Baseball was pushed to the top of Connor’s agenda, along with the resurgence of conflict with his dad. Connor could not actually disagree with his father about the likely consequences of coming out as gay to his team. His experience was that participation in sports required adherence to a rigidly masculine and heterosexual style of performance. 

He wondered if going to the prom had been worth it. Then he remembered Jude saying everything he had been wanting and needing to hear for so many weeks. _I’m gay_ and the dorky expression on his face when he said _super gay, for you_. He remembered Jude’s head on his shoulder during the dance, holding him close, and the softness of his lips when they said goodbye at the end of Connor’s driveway. It was worth every second of the next two weeks. 

Connor breathed through his nose, compressed his eyes with a finger and thumb and swallowed his tears.   

“Are you still there?” 

He pictured Jude’s yawning face. Right now, he wished he was curled up on the bench seat in the warmth of the Adams-Foster kitchen falling asleep on his boyfriend’s shoulder. He turned over in bed, kicking at the sheets and switching his phone to the other ear. His room was the same, but the house felt different these days. He was lonely all the time when he was not with Jude and suspected that baseball camp would not improve the situation. The next two weeks were shaping up to be an endurance test. “I’m here. Can we talk about something else? Or are you too tired?”

“I’m good for a while. Hey, listen, let me tell you about what happened with AJ today…” 

 

The first week they spent at least an hour talking on their phones after everyone else had gone to bed. Connor would be lying in bed, while Jude, still sharing a room with AJ, would slip downstairs to the kitchen, curl up on the couch and settle in for a half-whispered conversation. One night Mariana came down for a drink of water. Her hair hung in rats’ tails and the circles under her eyes betrayed that she had not slept properly in weeks. Across the room, Jude froze, but Mariana just shot him a look replete with fellow feeling, filled her glass and left without saying anything.  

 

They talked about the camp. 

“What’s it like?” Jude asked the first night. He was not asking about the training. Connor knew this but was not yet ready to touch on more sensitive topics. 

“Weird.” He groped for something more articulate. “I’ve lost a lot of ground.” 

“But you’ve only missed, like, six weeks.” Jude sounded puzzled, and no wonder. He might have been talking about homework, not his alleged favourite pastime.  

“Six weeks is a long time in baseball.”

“What did your coach say?” 

“He seems to think I’m doing OK.”  Connor put little stock in such groundless complacency. 

“Well, there you go then. I’ve seen you play. You’re really good.”  

“It’s been, like, one day.” Connor appreciated the attempt to provide solace but he had been doing this a long time and was way past the point at which cheerleading could help him. “But, you know, thanks,” he said, trying to sound sincere. 

Adam Stevens had started throwing a ball around the backyard as soon as his baby boy was able to toddle after his missed catches. Connor did not, however, play his first game of baseball until the age of nine, getting his start relatively late compared to some. Watching four and five-year-olds chase squirrels and pick dandelions in the outfield or draw in the infield dirt was, in Adam Stevens’ estimation, a waste of time. Other boys—signed up by their parents for private lessons, camps and clinics—had their spark of talent forced by organised instruction and suffered the drama and politics of youth baseball leagues. In contrast to these mini-adults, Connor’s enthusiasm for the beautiful game was pure. Father and son spent their free time together, Adam transmitting his love for baseball through their endless games of catch and, later, relaying his knowledge to Connor at the batting cages. Baseball apart, he encouraged Connor at soccer and basketball, taught him to swim like an eel, took him fishing and hiking the easier trails on weekends. The endless hours of personal attention paid out handsomely. Once he started playing, baseball stayed fun for Connor as he worked to attain an all-round proficiency. He had grown used to being the tallest and strongest kid on his rec team, the fastest runner and the hardest, most accurate hitter in his age group. In short, he was considered by his coaches to show some talent. 

Taking into account his status as officially convalescing, at camp Connor was not making a fool of himself by any visible measure. The difference in his play was not physical but emotional. Today, standing in the batter’s box waiting to receive a pitch, he had felt like he was watching himself from the sidelines. He did not know whether the familiar, comfortable sense of belonging to the team and trust in his own performance would come back, or if he even wanted it to. 

In full-on avoidance mode, Connor took a gamble on Jude’s general lack of interest in all physical activities that did not include swimming, skateboarding and dancing. “Can we talk about something else?” He held his breath. Jude, as he often did, failed to fall into line. It was one of the things Connor loved about him. 

“Well, sure. I mean, if you really want to.” Jude did not seem annoyed, only snippy. Connor judged it was worth another try. 

“What’s with the snark? I just…”  _want to switch off and talk about something fun_. Connor did not bother finishing the sentence. He already knew what was coming. 

“Let me see. We could talk about what level of Bejewelled I’m on now. Or we could talk about the casserole Mama made for dinner. It was really delicious.”

“OK. Stop.”  

“Or you could just tell me what’s going on. I know you love baseball. I know you have not suddenly become terrible at baseball. So what is it?”

“I’m not  _terrible_. My head just isn’t in the game, not since…” 

Connor thought about when his motivation first started to drop off. The decision to invite Jude along to the batting cages, all those months ago, had been nothing short of disastrous. After his dad banned Jude from sleeping over, Connor had continued to go with his dad. Those sessions were sacrosanct.  Almost overnight, however, Connor started to question his uncritical love of baseball. He stopped enjoying team practices and no longer looked forward to making progress during the season, moving up to the next division. For months he had soldiered on refusing to think about his changing feelings. Baseball was his safe place. As Connor’s world turned upside down, as he spent every waking moment thinking about the fact that soon his dad was going to hate him, he dared not contemplate losing baseball as well. 

The bullet entering his foot put a stop to everything. No more sports. No more lies. It was like being released from jail. And now his dad was trying to shove him back in his cell and he was going along with it. 

Jude was waiting patiently on the other end of the phone. “What were you going to say?” Once Jude had the bit between his teeth, there was no stopping him. Connor played his last card.  

“I’m just out of practice. You know, because of my foot. It’ll get better, I expect.” Connor pictured Jude rolling his eyes down the phone and knew he was defeated.

“Come on. Spill.”  

Before Jude and Connor were boyfriends, when they were friends, their time together had been interrupted by the rhythms of school and practice and family time. Before they were boyfriends, when they were not friends, when they were more than friends, time was limited and precious. In snatched moments, they grew in intimacy, shared the pain of being misunderstood. These foundational conversations as friends/not friends/more than friends (but not yet boyfriends), were brief, tentative. When they did become boyfriends, for a while, they talked less than before. The traumatic aftermath of the shooting, the shock of being outed, their contrasting responses to the changing status quo, created a wordless tension. They took refuge in mindless pursuits, mainly video gaming and silent, intense make out sessions. This taciturn phase ended with Connor crying into Jude’s shoulder outside the gun range. The first weeks of summer brought with it unbroken stretches of unstructured time. Their conversations gradually changed their character. Sentences grew longer and the subject matter more profound. Trust, a delicate span of arches bridging their differences, was built on confidences shared.  

 The dam burst and Connor spilled. “Six weeks off and I’d forgotten what it’s like. It’s not just the odd comment, it’s relentless. You have to join in or you stand out.”

“What kind of comments?” 

Connor knew that Jude knew the answer to that. He could also tell that Jude was carefully keeping the inflection of anger out of his voice. He sighed. “You know what I mean.”  

“Say it.” 

“About being gay. Everything that’s bad is  _gay_. Every time someone messes up, it’s because they’re gay or fags or whatever. Then the other side of it. You know—so girls are, like, bitches;  _ho_ t or  _not hot_. You have to join in with that too, or draw attention. And you can’t talk about anything you actually like. You can talk about sports, or who’s hot but not much else. Apart from anything else, it is so fucking boring. I’d forgotten.” 

“I guess you decided not to come out to your team today.” Jude’s voice was completely flat. He must be really mad if that was the only way he could keep hold of his temper. Connor told himself that Jude was not mad at him. It did not help. Nothing could stop him from being mad at himself. 

“I wanted to. I really wanted to. I thought I’d just bite the bullet, you know, like we talked about. I was going to tell Teddy because we’ve always been friends. And the first thing he says to me was, like, “What’s up, Stevens? Heard you got yourself shot in the foot, that’s so  _gay_.” It doesn’t even make sense.”

 

The first time Jude crept out of his house at midnight was Monday of the second week. 

 

Jude’s weekend had been relaxing verging on boring, which suited his disposition perfectly. Talking on the phone late Sunday night, Connor’s account of the weekend at his mom’s was minimal. His parents presented a united front on one matter at least. As far as they were concerned, the fewer people who really knew their son the better. In line with his mother’s wish that he not  _spoil the party_ , Connor kept the news that he had a boyfriend to himself and the barbecue passed off without incident. Jude did not object to being a skeleton in the closet, having not a leg to stand on in that regard. However, Connor’s recent willingness to toe the parental line was starting to bother him. 

Right now, Jude was kneeling on the kitchen floor with his elbows on the couch. He could not seem to keep still during these phone calls. 

Connor brushed aside his questions, claiming that he was fine and ready to handle the second week of camp. “Maybe Mom and Dad have the right idea, you know? You said it yourself. Sometimes it’s better to fly under the radar.” 

“Mm.” This was not exactly what Jude had said, but he let it go. Connor knew what he was doing when it came to sports. Jude trusted his boyfriend to know what was best for him. Kind of. A word Jude had heard in therapy popped into his head:  _compartmentalising._

He grabbed a handful of his own hair and imagined pulling it out at the roots. This endless process of coming out  _sucked_. Every fucking day it was something else. Jude’s specific experience led him to suspect that Connor might be making himself smaller out of fear. He did not, however, have enough experience of being someone’s boyfriend to know the right questions to elicit an emotionally truthful reaction. He was only thirteen. He found it hard enough to distinguish between his own reasonable and irrational fears. 

Connor had picked up on the unease inherent in Jude’s monosyllabic response. His boyfriend was nothing if not intuitive. “Dad wants the best for me.” 

“Yeah. Of course he does.” Jude believed this to be true. 

“I just have to get through this week.” Connor’s voice changed, lowering to a parody of Adam Stevens’ cadence. “ _Tough it out, my boy_.” 

Jude understood one thing: that certain kinds of fear increased with every expression of judgement from people who were supposed to love you. Another word— _detachment—_ popped into his head but he did not know what to do with it. He just knew he was worried and missing Connor like crazy.   

Twenty-four hours later, Jude closed the front door behind him with a click and started jogging in the direction of the Stevens’ house. 

During their late night phone calls the previous week, Jude had encouraged Connor to talk through his day and repeat whatever homophobic language he was hearing on the field and in the locker room. This tallying of the day’s events was all he could think of to ease the pressure of what had to be an intolerable situation. An unintended outcome of this strategy was that Jude found himself growing less and less fond of baseball every day. When talking to Connor, he managed to keep a lid on his criticisms and later relieved his feelings by ranting about pervasive homophobia in core sports to whichever family member happened to be available and willing to provide a sympathetic ear. Connor had no such outlet, so Jude did his best impression of a non-judgmental sounding board and hid his concerns. It seemed to help a little. At any rate, his boyfriend had not yet blown up at anyone. Still, even to a casual observer it was obvious that long days pretending to be straight in such a hostile environment were taking their toll. Connor’s easy temper was shortening and his nerves beginning to fray as he grew exhausted with the effort of acting a part. This had led to Jude’s decision to sneak out. 

The other reason for sneaking out was that Jude was missing his boyfriend to an unbearable pitch. Talking on the phone was all well and good but he missed Connor’s warmth, his physical presence, and he wanted a hug. He was tired of holding his phone to his ear while he listened to stories of the awful things Connor’s team mates had said that day. He was tired of creeping back into his empty bed counting down the days until he would see Connor again. He wanted to hold him and be held by him. Listening without being able to do anything to comfort Connor was too fucking sad. He wanted to feel Connor’s hand in his, not his phone. He wanted to feel Connor’s cheek against his, not his phone. He wanted to feel Connor’s breath whispering into his ear, not his phone. 

Inside of twenty minutes, Jude was scrutinising his phone, leaning against the wall as he stood in the weeds growing up by the side of the Stevens’ house. The reply to his text said, simply,  _2 secs_. The side door to the garage opened with a barely audible click, and then Connor’s silhouette was in front of him. Their arms wrapped around and once again they were in the shelter of each other. 

They stood like that for a while. Jude’s hands moved up and down Connor’s spine, felt out the shape of his shoulder blades. Connor squeezed Jude’s ribcage, pulling him in tight, practically lifting him off the ground. Warm breath caressed Jude’s neck. “I missed this.” Connor put his head on Jude’s shoulder, rested his weight against Jude’s chest and leaned, pushing him against the wall of the garage. 

Jude, too, had missed this. He moved his hands higher, patted Connor’s hair, ran his fingers through it. The rough bricks and mortar of the garage wall scratched his shoulders pleasantly through his t-shirt. Connor’s arms were still around his waist, protecting him from being squashed. It occurred to Jude that it would be nice to stay in Connor’s arms indefinitely. Connor’s head was heavy on his collarbone. He dropped a kiss on top of it, breathing in the medicinal scent of anti-dandruff shampoo. 

Connor’s face came up to meet his. Their cheeks sought each other out and their noses touched. In the darkness, Jude’s lips bumped against Connor’s. He held Connor’s head in both hands, guiding them.  

Some time later, a security light across the street clicked on, reminding them of the precariousness of their situation. Jude disengaged, slid his hands down to Connor’s shoulders and shook gently. “So,” he whispered. “Tell me the latest. What happened today?”  

Connor answered Jude’s unasked question. “I didn’t do it. Again.” 

 

Their Sunday night phone call had ended with Connor resolving that tomorrow—that is to say, today—he was going to say something. He and Teddy had fallen into a habit of doing warm ups first thing in the morning and eating their sandwiches together. 

“We—we were talking at lunch and he asked me what I was doing the rest of the summer.” Connor still could not account for the strangled feeling in his throat as Teddy looked at him expectantly. He bowed his head and Jude craned closer to catch his next words. “I tried to tell him about you and me but…” The words had died on his lips and he could not explain it. “I’m so sorry,” he said, not knowing why. Jude had not ever asked him to come out. Yet somehow Connor felt that he had let him down.

It made no sense. He had never had trouble speaking up for himself before. 

Adam Stevens had raised a son who respected traditional forms of authority.  This schooling provided Connor with a sense of security and ease of belonging wherever he happened to be. In most situations, he found himself near the top of the pecking order, if not at the very apex of the pyramid. At baseball camp, Connor was above Teddy. Teddy was below him. According to Connor’s world view, telling his team mate that he was gay and had a boyfriend should have been straightforward. Before, the force of Connor’s personality had always carried him through but now other factors were coming into play. He imagined his future sporting career—if he had one—bearing down on him with the unrelenting velocity of an oncoming train. It was different at school. At Anchor Beach, Connor’s peers respected him because he was smart and good at sports—but also because he was kind and not a jerk. At Anchor Beach, stupid jerks did not rule the roost. Ms Adams ruled the roost and the school was safe for everyone.   

“It’s OK.” Jude smoothed Connor’s cheeks with his fingertips, brushing away the tears. 

“No. It’s not.”

“I know. But you don’t have anything to be sorry about.”

“I’m glad you’re here.” Connor sniffed. “Can we not talk any more right now? You have to go soon.”

Jude acquiesced, sliding his hands around Connor’s neck and pulling him in for another hug. 

 

The following night, which was Tuesday, in response to vehement pleading by text, Jude crept out again at midnight and made his way to the Stevens’ house. Connor waited for him in the weed-clogged graveyard of rusting bikes and shrunken basketballs next to the garage. Jude recognised his tendency to turn to putty in his boyfriend’s hands and feared that by allowing himself to be silenced with kisses he was somehow colluding in Connor’s unhappiness. There was no reason to suppose that conditions at baseball camp were improving and Jude was saddened and worried by Connor’s increasing reluctance to answer his questions. At a loss, he came up with a plan to help his boyfriend. He did not have the best track record at formulating secret plans, so he kept this one simple. At 4pm on Wednesday afternoon he placed a call to Adam Stevens’ mobile. The number was in his phone for emergencies, but this was the first time he had reason to use it. 

 

Adam was in a meeting with a bunch of subcontractors when the call came in.  He looked at the name on the screen in puzzlement, then anxiety. “Excuse me, guys. I need a minute.” He darted into the corridor and picked up. “Yes?”

“Um. Hi. Mr Stevens?” Adam was familiar with the dilatory speech patterns of thirteen-year-old boys. He took a breath. 

“Yes, Jude. It’s me. Is everything OK?”  He bounced on his toes, holding back the flood of questions hovering on the tip of his tongue.  _What have you done now?_   _Has something happened to Connor? Is he hurt?_

“Um. Uh—” Jude, urgently consumed with his own, purely emotional concerns, had no inkling of the worst-case scenarios currently flashing through Adam’s mind. 

“Is Connor with you?” Adam could no longer suppress the urgency in his voice.

“No! He’s at camp today…” Jude trailed off doubtfully. “Isn’t he?” The upward inflection had the ring of sincerity. Adam breathed a little easier.  

“What do you need?”

Jude began to stumble through the speech he had prepared. “I’m worried about him. He’s not OK and he won’t tell me what’s going on. I think it’s maybe because I don’t really get sports. He needs help. I think he needs  _you_. Please. Just go and see for yourself.”

“Is he getting…” Adam searched for the right word. “…harassed?” 

There was a long pause on the other end of the line. What Adam did not know was that Jude was considering the grossness of a father talking without apparent emotion about the possibility that his son was being subjected to homophobic bullying. The complacency was breath-taking, really, when you think about it. “Not exactly.” There was another pause. “He hasn’t told them he’s gay if that’s what you mean.” 

Adam Stevens was an obstinate man but not a dense one. The sullen contempt in the boy’s voice sparked a familiar, acrid burst of self-justificatory anger. It flared, died and turned to bitter ashes within the space of half a second. He sighed. “OK. I get it. Look, I have to wrap things up here first. He’s finishing at five today, so I’ll swing by and pick you up in half an hour.”

“Me?” Apparently Jude had not anticipated an invitation. Adam took this sign of returning humility favourably. 

“Unless you’re busy?”

“No. I’d like to come. Uh, thanks.”

“Be ready,” Adam barked. Time meant nothing to these kids. “There might be traffic.” 

 

Connor changed quickly and threw his glove, bat, helmet, catcher’s gear, and water bottle into his bag. Checking the time on his phone, he walked out of the locker room ahead of his team mates. Taking a short cut, a minute later he burst through the emergency doors and started crossing the car park at a rapid clip. Not having to talk to any of his team mates and being left to the peaceful solitude of his own thoughts was the only thing on his mind. If he stepped up the pace, he would make the first bus. Luck was not on his side. “Hey, Stevens, wait up!” 

Connor kept his eyes facing forward. He could not actually jog away from Teddy but he could pretend to be deaf. The bus stop was just beyond the trees.  In the distance, the bus was pulling away from the next stop along the road. He put on an extra spurt of speed, then stumbled, breathless. Teddy had punched him on the shoulder blade. He slowed but did not stop, shrugging and keeping his head down.  

“What’s the hurry, Stevens? Hot date?” Teddy put his hand on Connor’s shoulder, dragging him backwards. Slowly, Connor turned to face him, keeping his expression neutral. 

“Nah. My dad’s expecting me home.”

“You getting the bus?”

“I was.” Two hundred yards away, on the other side of the trees lining the car park, the bus driver slammed on her brakes and pulled up by the bus stop. He could have slapped the fatuous grin right off Teddy’s face. 

“Never mind, man. There’ll be another one along in a minute.” Teddy was standing way too close. Connor could see scraps of tuna sandwich clinging to metal braces. He held his breath, trying not to wrinkle his nose, and shrugged to dislodge the hand still gripping his shoulder. 

“I guess.” 

In actuality, the next bus was not due for fifteen minutes. Connor knew this because he had memorised the schedule. Walking backwards in an attempt to keep Teddy from intruding on his personal space, Connor could see five or six boys pouring out of the double doors, jostling and punching each other. Acceding defeat, he fell into step alongside his team mate. 

The boys squatted in a line behind the bus stop, seeking shelter from the late afternoon sun in a clump of immature trees. All were fatigued and quiet for once. Connor stared up the street willing the next bus to arrive before the next round of tomfoolery started up. In another age, he might have lit a cigarette, the time-honoured spell for conjuring buses. Passers-by strolled along the bright white pavement, on their way home from work or the unemployment line. Two girls in short shorts were coming from the beach. They looked to be fifteen or maybe sixteen. The one nearest to him had a striped towel draped around her neck and about a hundred ear piercings. The other girl’s floppy hat hid most of the pink hair straggling down her neck. They were holding hands. He flicked a glance from side to side. Most of his team mates looked to be half-asleep and none were yet looking along the street. He stood, quietly and took a few paces, separating himself from the group. Leaning against the chain link fence next to the bus stop, he scrolled through his texts. 

A low whistle was the first indication. Then the whispered comments began.  “See that?”

“What? Oh my God.”

“Ew. Lesbos. Gross.”

Connor raised his eyes from his phone. The girls were close, about to walk past him. Their fingers were tightly interlaced. Stripy towel/piercings was looking anywhere but at the group of teenage boys lounging under the trees. Floppy hat/pink hair tipped her head back and pushed a pair of dark sunglasses up her nose. She was tiny, shorter than Jude’s sister, but he could practically see the fire breathing from her nostrils. He stared desperately into the middle distance for the non-existent bus and looked down at his phone again. 

“Hey, Stevens! Dykes, three o’clock.” He looked up again, scowling at Teddy. As they passed the bus stop, the shorter girl turned her head, pulled off her sunglasses and glared. The late afternoon sun was behind her, blinding him and making his nose itch. He dragged the back of his hand across his face, blinking. 

Her hair had been blonde, not pink, at the prom. 

The girl’s blue eyes blazed with the steady brilliance of a bunsen burner flame. He maintained eye contact, doing his best to communicate sympathy and apology without words. She raised the middle finger of her free hand and held it out like a weapon.  

“Coward,” she spat under her breath and stomped on her way. 

Dragging his feet, Connor moved back towards his team squatting underneath the trees. He struggled to get his phone back in his pocket, hands bigger and clumsier than usual. The bus was never coming. All he wanted was to get a seat by himself, lean against the window and let his head bang on the glass as the wheels jolted over the bumps in the road. 

Two hundred yards away, over by the parking lot, someone was running towards him, waving frantically. 

 

Jude was ready and waiting on the porch when Adam came to pick him up. The journey passed in awkward silence, apart from Adam’s muttered curses at the congestion around the convention centre. It was two minutes after five when they pulled into the parking lot next to the baseball field. 

“Should I text him?” 

“Not yet. Can we just wait for a minute? Please.”

“Fine. But I don’t see the point of this exercise.”

The words hung in the air as clearly as if Jude had actually said them.  _I know you don’t._   

They sat in the air-conditioned car with the blacked-out windows. There was a chance that his plan would not work out. Connor was observant and Mr Stevens’ car was fancy. Jude was banking on his boyfriend not being his usual self. A set of double-doors at one end of the facility burst open with a crash and Connor came through them, leaving the doors swinging behind him in his haste to get away. They watched him stride across the parking lot heading for the bus stop. Adam went to open the driver’s side door and Jude put a hand on his arm. Adam looked disgusted and he snatched it away as though burned. 

“Sorry.”

“I’m getting tired of these shenanigans. What am I supposed to be looking at?”

“Just watch.”

They saw Connor try to make a break for it and Teddy chasing his quarry down. They watched him get overtaken by a swarm of leaping, hollering teenage boys and how he trailed after them, feet dragging on the tarmac. Jude felt his point was made. He looked at Mr Stevens for confirmation. “See?”

“What do I see?” Adam was no longer looking in Connor’s direction, but scrolling through the contacts on his phone. Jude’s patience was exhausted. He opened the passenger side door. 

“Come on.”

At a safe distance, they followed Connor and his team mates across the length of the parking lot. When they got to the exit, in sight of the bus stop, Jude stopped and waited for Adam to catch up with him. Visibly out of breath and in no mood to indulge teenage dramatics, Adam reached the end of his rope. “Right now, it seems to me I left work early for nothing. If you think Connor is going to thank us for turning up out of the blue then you’re right—you know nothing about sports. This is his team. He needs to find his level and learn to fit in.” Adam looked down and away, but Jude could not miss the sneer that passed across his face. “Especially now.” 

Confounded but not defeated, Jude faced his adversary across the automatic gate barricading the exit to the parking lot. His lip trembled but his voice was as calm as the day he went to visit Connor in the hospital. “He is  _miserable_. If you can’t see that, it’s because you don’t want to. I don’t care what you do, but I’m not leaving him by himself. Thanks for the ride.”

Jude stalked away, as upright as a blade of grass and twice as cutting. Adam shrugged, stuffed his hands in his pockets and sauntered, as casually as possible, back to the air-conditioned security of his vehicle. 

 

Jude semaphored his arms and bounded towards to the group sprawled out under the trees. Connor was apart from them, leaning against the fence next to the bus stop. As Jude approached, he turned and took a few steps, shielding his eyes and looking towards the parking lot.  

“Hey,  _Connor_!” 

“Jude?” A smile overflowing with welcome and gratitude spread over Connor’s features. Jude returned the smile with brass knobs on. 

Teddy sauntered over: a gatecrasher. “Hey, Stevens, what’s up?”

Jude and Connor looked at each other. Under certain circumstances, at home and with friends, they were now in the habit of greeting each other with a hug. Jude stood back on his heels and folded his arms. 

“I’m a friend of Connor’s from school.”

“What brings you here?” Connor’s words were disinterested but the soft light in his eyes warmed Jude to the marrow. 

“You said we’d work on that assignment tonight. Did you forget?” He telegraphed a message.  _Work with me here._ Connor was a quick thinker. 

“I thought we were meeting at the library.” 

“We were, but my sister works at a bakery near here, so I hitched a ride.” Messages were flying back and forth. Teddy looked from one to the other, an expression of earnest befuddlement on his lumpen features. Connor stuck an arm out to flag down the bus barrelling down the street towards them.  

“I guess it all worked out.” 

On the bus, Jude and Connor took a double seat. Shoulders, hips and knees touched lightly and pressed close whenever the bus jerked over a bump in the road or swerved around a corner. Jude did his best to communicate comfort and companionship by simple touch, while Teddy, an unwitting third wheel in the seat across the aisle, jabbered about nothing. 

They disembarked by the library, to keep up the charade, and walked the rest of the way home. When they reached the quiet avenue that led, eventually, to both their houses, Jude held Connor’s hand for a moment. “Hope I didn’t put you on the spot by turning up like that.”

“Let me see if I have this right. You called my  _dad_? What did you think was going to happen?”

“I hoped…” Jude hesitated. “…I don’t know. I want him to support you, that’s all. So you can be on the team without having to lie.”

 “Well, thanks for trying, but it was never going to work. As long as I keep on playing and my mouth shut, he’s happy.” Connor sighed, hitching his bag full of baseball kit higher onto his shoulder. 

They reached the turn-off to Jude’s house and halted. Connor scuffed at the sidewalk with his feet and stared at the ground. “Will you sneak out tonight?”

Jude pursed his mouth like he was sucking on a lime. “No. We can’t keep doing that. It’s getting too risky.” 

“Fine.” That Connor did not think it was fine could not have been more obvious. 

“Can’t you come back to mine now, for a bit?”

“Dad’ll be expecting me.”

“OK.” He took Connor’s hand again and squeezed. “Call me then?”

“Sure.” Connor turned away, letting go of Jude’s hand. He walked off without saying goodbye, leaving Jude staring after him, no less worried than before. 

 

Jude heard the front door go, jumped down from the tree and ran to meet Connor. They had planned a Saturday at the beach. Whilst Jude re-read Callie’s ancient, water-marked and well-thumbed copy of Lemony Snicket, Connor slept away the morning in the beach tent. 

 

After an hour or so of chilling, Jude wanted to swim. He put out a hand to brush away a fly buzzing around Connor’s head and then rested a palm on his sternum. Connor’s chest rose and fell steadily under his hand. His boyfriend did not wake. Jude enjoyed the connection for an unspecified period of time before hopping up to run down to the water by himself. As he practiced floating and kicking, he pictured his anxious thoughts as flotsam and jetsam being taken away by the current. 

Next week, Connor would go back to twice-weekly baseball practices. Since Wednesday he had clammed up completely about the camp and talked only of plans for the rest of the summer. Jude was done trying to intervene. There was absolutely nothing he could say or do until Connor was ready to admit he needed help. Today, as his boyfriend, his job was helping Connor to relax. Jude was hopeful a line could now be drawn under camp and the status quo would soon be restored. 

This plunge into the cold waters of common sense restored his well-being. He ducked his head and practiced swimming under water for a few minutes, before getting out and drying off.  

After two hours, Connor woke up ready for his lunch. They shared out the picnic given to them by Stef and Lena. In the bottom of the bag were two doughnuts apiece. “Cool,” said Jude. 

“Here, have one of mine.” Connor took a doughnut between finger and thumb and placed it ceremoniously in front of Jude. A plastic carrier bag had been pressed into temporary service as a plate. Licking the sweetness off his hands, Connor turned his attention to his sandwich.

Such unwarranted generosity was an unforeseen turn of events. Suspecting foul play, Jude squinted at his boyfriend. Crusty crumbs of sleep clung to Connor’s eyelashes, his movements were languorous and he kept yawning like a kitten. Jude decided he was not being tricked. “Thanks.” He lined up his three doughnuts in a perfect equilateral triangle and covered them with a napkin to keep off the flies. 

Connor opened up his sandwich. “Um. Yeah, so I have this team thing later. We’re going out for all-you-can-eat pizza. It’s, like, an end of training camp thing” He took out the pickled cucumber and waved it in a  _you want this?_ gesture. Jude shook his head slowly.

“Trash can’s right over there.” 

By the time Connor got back, Jude had digested the information. “You never said you were going out with the team tonight.”

“Oh, I didn’t?” Connor knew damn well he had not said anything. Jude munched his corned beef sandwich, enjoying the crunchy pickle. He let the silence spin out like a line on a fishing reel. After a moment, he hooked a contrite Connor. “I’m sorry.” 

“It’s OK. You don’t have to be sorry. I just thought…” Jude did not know what he thought; something about a movie or game night perhaps. It had, after all, been two weeks. He felt like an ass. Huh. He had made an  _ass_  out of  _u_  and  _me_. Brandon could be annoying with all of his repetitive sayings but he was pretty smart. 

Connor munched his monotonous sandwich. “I’d rather be doing something with you. It’s just—I have to go to this thing.”

Jude wondered whether or not to say it. He said it. “Well,  _do_ you?” 

“Dad’s making me. You know he’s friends with my coach.”

Jude did not know, but it figured. 

 

“Jude, honey, will you get that?” Lena put down her newspaper. “Who in the world can it be? It’s Saturday night, for heaven’s sake.” Stef made no answer; she was dozing on the couch.   

Jude put down the controller and went to the front door. “Oh. Hi, Mr Stevens.” Lena came out of the living room, arms folded across her chest. She was in her PJs. 

“What can we do for you, Adam?” She stood behind Jude and rested her hands on his shoulders. The idea might have been to show solidarity or to hide the fact she was wearing a ratty t-shirt and no bra. Perhaps it was a little of both. 

“I’m on my way to pick up Connor from his team dinner. I thought I might take him for ice cream after and wondered if Jude would like to join us. What do you say?” 

“I say it’s up to Jude.” She pressed gently down on her son’s shoulders. As far as she knew, Jude had not been alone with Adam since the time he threatened him with security in the hospital. She wanted him to know that he did not have to go anywhere with this man. 

“Why?” said Jude. He was right to be suspicious, in Lena’s opinion. “Aren’t you worried about how it’s going to look if I turn up to meet him with you?”

Adam shrugged. “If you want you can stay in the car.”

“Right. No thanks.”

“Or not. I don’t care. I thought about what you said. Come or don’t come, it’s up to you. Just make up your mind because I don’t want to be late.”

Under her hands, Lena felt Jude let out the breath he was holding. He seemed to be relaxing now, but she was still completely in the dark. Adam bounced on his toes, spinning his ignition key on one finger. 

Jude turned to face his mother. “I won’t be late.”

“No, you won’t. Have him back by ten, please, Adam.”

 

Connor slumped in his bench seat, staring at the door to the restaurant and counting the seconds until his dad came by to pick him up. He was sitting at one end of the long table and had checked out of the conversation fifteen minutes ago. The noise in the pizza restaurant was deafening, so he had a good excuse for not talking to anyone. The other good excuse was that he was sitting opposite Teddy, not exactly a master of sparkling repartee. There was a loose thread on the red and white checked PVC tablecloth that was niggling at him, so he pulled at it, worsening the frayed edge. His head rolled back against the mirror on the wall behind him and his eyes glazed over. The reason for this was not four slices of pepperoni pizza plus a large Coke. He was tired to death and wanted nothing more than to be at home, in bed, fast asleep. 

The door to the restaurant swung open and his dad came through it. Connor dragged himself upright and turned his back, reaching for his jacket on a hook next to the mirror. He just had to sit through a ten minute exchange of banter and insults between Dad and Coach Martinez and he would be free. 

“Hey.” A soft and familiar voice brought Connor to life and he spun around. Jude was standing next to his father on the other side of the table. Connor gawked and so did his team mates. The whispers started. 

“Who’s that?”

“It’s that guy from the other day.”

Teddy half-stood, reaching over to shove Connor in the ribs. His gormless face shone with pizza grease and there were bits of jalepeño stuck to his braces. It was gross. “What’s he doing here, Stevens?”

Connor slowly put his arms in his jacket. Jude looked as though he had left the house in a hurry. His hair was fluffed out from the shower and he was wearing an old stripy t-shirt that was way too short for him. Connor looked from Jude to his dad. Having greeted Coach Martinez politely, Adam was not responding to any of his opening gambits. Instead, he was looking directly at Connor, one eyebrow raised. Connor felt his cheeks start to glow with relief and happiness and a smile crept over his face. His dad scowled nervously and Jude smiled back at him. 

He looked up the table. Most people had lost interest already and were going back to their insipid conversations about sports and whatever else passed for acceptable topics between young heterosexual males. Only Teddy was still waiting for an answer to his question, glancing uneasily between his old buddy and the dark-haired, gangly, strangely poised interloper. 

Connor put him out of his misery. “Teddy, you remember Jude. He’s my boyfriend.” 

**Author's Note:**

> At this point in 3A, Connor is struggling at home with his dad and that interested me. I wanted to explore its impact on his emotional state and his relationship with Jude, so that's what I focused on. Whoever requested this fic, I hope it's what you wanted.


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